I was a little dubious when my dear friend Leonidas suggested that tonight we dine in Hell. But he assured me that it was the up and coming place for both "being seen" and for the best in quality cuisine. As he has had such a hard time recently, what with madness, betrayal and ultimately being slaughtered, I felt that it was only fair he decided on the venue for our tête-à-tête, dubious though I was about the skill of the head chef at this establishment.

My first impression of the ambience was not good. I found it rather dark and oppressive, although the fire pits did give a somewhat cheery glow to the surroundings. As soon as I announced my name the head waiter was only too pleased to ensure we had the best of tables of course. I chose one close to a fire pit that was mostly unoccupied, which kept the amount of distracting screaming to a minimum.

Entrails

I spotted my dear friend Hitler over on another table. I've not seen him for years now, so I knew he would be overjoyed to see me again. Sadly the spikes that were holding him to the table as he was buggered by two ostriches prevented him from greeting me in the proper manner. I took his screams of pain as he obviously intended them, as cries of pleasure at my presence.

I chose to start with the devilled eggs. My companion started with a simple red-hot poker up the arse, administered efficiently by our host. My eggs were unusual, with the added sulphur and brimstone tasting rather tart but not unpleasant. The general impression was of a more meaty dish than I expected, with a unusual salty after-taste. Indeed, they were more reminiscent of oysters than of eggs.

Pain Course

Curry with an unusual but piquant tang of petrol

I rarely choose curry in high class establishments, but the claim here that their curry was truly hot piqued my interest. Leonidas decided to go for the pincers to the nipples, and the everlasting disembowelment as his main course, which I thought a bad choice to go with our selection of wine. My curry was, as promised, hot. In fact I have to admit that even I had difficulty in finding my way around the burning flames to get my fork into the dish. It took three melted forks before I could actually take a bite of my food. And here, I'm sorry to say, was where the service really fell down. When one is trying to prise molten metal off one's lap, it is simply not good enough for the waiter to be lax in bringing a more fire-resistant implement. However, the flavour of my curry could not be faulted, what little of it I tasted before my tongue melted.

Just Desserts

Our final course was probably the most interesting of the evening. And it was improved by meeting my very good friend Saddam Hussein. He is someone I have spent many a pleasant evening with, and I'm sure that if he wasn't trying to pick up his entrails from the floor he would have recalled them. My companion chose the spotteddick, and when we looked, it was indeed spotted. In fact, I would have called it cancerous, gangrenous and rapidly disappearing. I went for the rather more unusual angelfood cake, which was delightful, if rather gritty and dirty. When I complained to the waiter about this, he told me it was fallen angelfood cake, a pun which I hope keeps him in hell for all eternity.

I left Leonidas contemplating which fiery pit he would prefer to burn in while his coffee and mints were served, a difficult decision in the best of restaurants. I can't say that I would recommend dining in Hell, despite the unique setting and genial host. However, as it is a place that I am likely to be frequenting rather a lot in the future, I can only hope that my helpful critique will encourage the waiters to improve on their rather lacklustre service. I'm sure that their sharpening of the red hot pokers while watching my table means nothing.